


TF Rarepair Week I

by dcepticonn



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers - Occulus Occult
Genre: F/F, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcepticonn/pseuds/dcepticonn
Summary: Here are all of my submissions for tfrarepairweek!
Relationships: Blades/Heatwave (Transformers), Bulkhead/Wheeljack (Transformers), Rung/Whirl (Transformers), Windblade/Slipstream/Arcee/Shadowstriker
Kudos: 10
Collections: Rare TF Pair Week 2020





	1. Skyray

**Author's Note:**

> Rung invites Whirl out to go Skyray riding when he makes his confession.

day 1:   
[_**beginning**_ or ~~end?~~](https://dcepticonn.tumblr.com/post/633591749526355968/raretfpairweek-rare-tf-pair-week-2020-november)

[This is also available on my tumblr!](https://dcepticonn.tumblr.com/post/633599547829092352/skyray)

_we never found the answer, but we knew one thing:_  
_we all have a hunger_  
_~ florence + the machine, 'hunger' ~_

“Did you hear about Optimus’ husband?” Rung began. He was perched on… something.   
It was large - a flat body sparkled deep navy-blue with gold and white flecks like stars, and a barbed tail swooped gently along the floor. Bright aqua-teal horns rose from the manta ray’s head - which Rung had his hands grasped firmly on. They were a species native to Cybertron and Cybertron’s solar system - skyrays.   
They were a common mount both on-planet and off-planet, and they were beautiful; for when the light struck them in the right direction their dark scales exploded into vibrant auroras.   
Rung pulled gently on the ray’s horns, which made it jerk slightly and lower itself onto the floor, laying its body flat. “Ugh,  _ Megatron _ ?” Whirl droned, rolling his singular golden optic. “What did he do this time?”   


Rung chuckled, reaching a hand down to stroke the ray’s face - its wide, bright blue eye drooped shut as Rung stroked it behind the ear cavity. “Well, get on and I’ll tell you the whole story”. Whirl shook his head.  
“You know I hate riding those damnable things”.  
“And I’ve always wondered why,” Rung purred softly as to not disturb the skyray. “There’s reigns in the cabinet”.  
The room was huge - it was what they’d call a stable of sorts for the rays among other space-and-interstellar-fairing creatures. There were sparkling cosmic dragons, which roosted in the rafters high above and made the dark ceiling shimmer like a night sky, their butterfly-wings flapping gently. There were even some animals not capable of resisting interstellar travel (as one never knows if they are visiting a planet that can’t handle their technology) like unicorns and pegasi and even some griffons and hippogriffs lounged among rafters and in massive stalls.   
And of course, there were skyrays. Two of them - a mated pair. One of which had bonded himself to Whirl, and the other who bonded herself to Rung.

Whirl huffed in annoyance at Rung, the smaller orange bot staring at him with a cocked brow and a curious smirk.  
Whirl hated it - but he turned on his heel and paced to the far wall; where there was a desk and racks and racks of saddles, blankets, stirrups and reigns of all sorts, all fitted to various creatures, all conveniently labelled with which beast wears what.  
Whirl huffed - the lowest pike on the wall had a blanket thrown over it; hand-made, patterned with shimmering blues and golds and the material was comfortingly soft in his claws. He grabbed the blanket and threw it over his shoulders.  
With it he grabbed the strong but elegant chain that hung behind the blanket - surely the reigns that will wrap around the ray’s horns while Rung held onto them like handlebars.

With an annoyed sigh Whirl rushed to Rung’s side, who smiled at him kindly -  
Whirl’s spark skipped a beat. There was something in the way he looked at him; the way gorgeous blue optics watched him through full-moon glasses. It was more than just a friendliness, now.  
Whirl had started as one of Rung’s patients; he would tell him his problems, Rung would tell him ways to cope and get better. But living on the same ship has led to them bumping into each other repeatedly; and to Whirl’s surprise Rung had begun inviting him to hang out with his friends and Whirl had found himself doing the same thing. In time the two had grown to know each other - and it was years since they first started interacting. It was all Ratchet’s suggestion.  
And because of this, it’s somewhat Ratchet’s fault that Whirl was feeling this way about Rung. A friend.  


Was it love?  
No. He didn’t want it to be. He couldn’t let it be love.  
He was too hurt to love.  
But with Rung he felt… differently, about himself. Like for once he was worth it. He wanted to love him but he was so scared of himself. What-ifs swirled his thoughts, distorted them, confused them. He didn’t want to hurt Rung; he was so nice to him. He didn’t want to hurt anyone.  
He had to stop himself from crying right where he stood - Rung shook his head. “What’s wrong?”  
“N-nothing”.  
“Well, there clearly is, you’re picking at your claws again”.  
Whirl’s optic widened in shock, and his head snapped down - sure enough he was fiddling with his claw. He sighed. “It’s nothing, I…” He trailed off.  
Rung offered a sympathetic sigh. “Alright, hand the reigns and the blanket over,” He began suddenly, reaching his hands towards Whirl. Whirl shook his head and handed the blanket and the reigns over to Rung.  


He huffed as he raised himself on the ray’s back, setting the blanket below him. He sat back down and tied the reigns around the ray’s horns and set them either side of him - their elegantly-carved handles sparkling brightly in the dim light. Rung slid off of the ray, and it rose, and Whirl shuffled under his companion and buckled the blanket down under her body, the straps either side of her fins.  
Rung patted the ray’s side and she lowered again; Rung clambering on.  
“Well?” He said. “Come on, then”.  
Whirl hesitated, raising a claw to his arm. “I…”  
“I mean, I invited you along,” Rung began. “Unless you rather we stay here”.  
Whirl sighed, and carefully climbed onto the ray’s back.

They drifted lazily through the cosmos, both in silence.  
The Lost Light was quite a ways behind them - massive and gorgeous against the blue marble of Earth.  
Rung sighed. “Whirl?” he began.  
“Yeah?”  
“If there’s something to tell me, just say it”.  
Whirl shifted uncomfortably. “Well…”  
Rung sighed. “Come on, spill it. Unless you want me to go first”.  
“Go first,” Whirl muttered.  
Rung smiled kindly. “Alright,” His com crackled for a moment as he sighed. “Whirl?”  
“Yeah?”  
“I’m madly in love with you”.  
Whirl’s spark skipped a beat. It was a joke. It had to be a joke.  
A jest. Like every other good thing that’s ever happened to him. It was a jest, nothing more. “No, you’re not,” he blurted.  


“Yes I am, Whirl,” Rung chuckled fondly. “I came out here to tell you this. I am so terribly in love with you it hurts”.  
Whirl sighed. “I…” He began. He found himself drifting his claws from the reigns to set around Rung’s small hips - “I have always been in love with you, Rung”.  
Rung chuckled. “Then why didn’t you say something sooner?” He reached up a hand to stroke at Whirl’s helm, which was hot to the touch. “I don’t care about what anyone else thinks. I love you, only you, nobody else”.  
Whirl sighed, resting his chin on Rung’s shoulder. He said nothing.  
Rung chuckled playfully and tilted his head, leaving a firm kiss on Whirl’s helm.  
Exhaust hissed from the other’s vents, and for a moment his whole body shuddered. His spark thundered in his audials. His body was numb - the way Rung said it was so honest and genuine and so true. It didn’t feel possible but it was.  


It must’ve been a mistake, or some dream, or something and he hated doubting it; he hated doubting someone he loved and cared about and knew so intimately.    
The kiss was still fresh on Whirl’s helm - he wanted more of it; he needed more of it.   
He trailed a claw up Rung’s body, to his shoulders and to the side of his face. Rung chuckled and turned his head to gaze at Whirl, who smiled softly - he parted his jaws, and in the best and only way he could he brought Rung’s lips against his jaws, and he kissed him as deeply as he could, and Rung’s small hands flew to either side of Whirl’s helm, and he returned the awkward kiss the best he could.   
Rung’s face-plates and Whirl’s helm were hot when they separated. “Well?” Rung whispered. “I believe my berth has room for one more,” He began. “I want you to sleep in my room tonight, in my bed. I want…” He hesitated. “I want to see what it’s like to share space with a lover”.   
Whirl snorted. “And here I was gonna say it’s too early for, well, you know”. Rung laughed - it was a musical sound; it was a beautiful sound. Whirl himself chuckled and nuzzled the top of Rung’s head. “It’s late, anyways, and I’m gettin tired. I…” He hesitated. “I love you”.   
Rung chuckled. “I love you too”.


	2. Spring and A Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of Windblade's polycule - their stories and how that affects how the crew of the Lost Light view them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a wee bit of a challenge! But I love how it came out; and explored the backstory of these four.

day 2:  
[ ** _reputation_** or ~~rumor?~~](https://dcepticonn.tumblr.com/post/633591749526355968/rare-tf-pair-week-2020-november-1-7-word)

[This is also available on my Tumblr!](https://dcepticonn.tumblr.com/post/633714686095949824/spring-and-a-storm)

_i wish you could've heard the music_   
_when the clouds growled overhead  
i finally felt enthusiastic,_   
_i finally felt alive!_   
_~ tally hall, 'spring and a storm' ~_

Windblade huffed.  
She was alone again, picking below her nails with the end of her blade - beloved Stormfall.   
Said blade was stolen from someone back home in the Caminus Province. Her home-province was reputed for almost always fighting among itself - one city was always warring with another to the point where Camiens were creating their own factions and battling it out in an eerie callback to what was happening in the West with Iacon. The Windsongs made themselves enemies of the Seasongs, and the Firesongs made themselves enemies of the Earthsongs - and alliances were established; Seasong and Earthsong, Windsong and Firesong.   
Windblade was proudly a member of the Windsongs - as were her twins; two darling sons she raised herself in the outskirts of Mrr’Grkha, a small village of about five-hundred or less near the Caminus border. The name translated to “Little Bear”.   
She had obtained Stormfall through bloodshed, through pain and suffering and violence.   
Snaketail had killed her twins.   
One of which was named Dovewing, the firstborn; and the other who was called Foxtail, the second-born. Both she raised, both she trained, both she watched get murdered by Snaketail with Stormfall in hand. 

In a fit of rage she had attacked the man and stole his blade, and killed him in an act of vengeance with his own blade. He was from the Seasongs - evident the style of the broadsword, with its elegant curves designed for ripping and tearing.   
It was Camien tradition - if someone you love or was related to was murdered, you must seek out the murderer and kill them with their own weapon, as it is believed that the souls of those killed by the blade live within it forever.  
Her mourning was no short one, either - she cried every day of her life, guilty that she could’ve stopped them.   
Those on the Lost Light even caught her cuddling the handle of Stormfall, nuzzling it softly and whispering soft nothings to it, in desperate hopes that her sons’ trapped souls may hear her.  
A lot of her fellows mocked her for this - telling her it was just superstition or whatever, and for the first few months she was bullied on board the Lost Light.

By all but three - Arcee, Slipstream and Shadowstriker.  
They were genuine and nice with her; and sympathetic over the loss of her twins. She appreciated it.   
And in recent months the quartet had become a family - all four of them so furiously in love with each other it hurt sometimes. Everybody knew this, and some rolled their eyes and groaned about it - primarily because of their tendency to raise absolute hell on board the ship.

The first - and the one who had been with Windblade the longest - was named Shadowstriker.  
She was once an assassin hailing from the Earthsongs - and their love was hailed as forbidden by both of their factions.  
At first it was sympathy - Shadowstriker felt for Windblade in the light of the loss of Dovewing and Foxtail, and Windblade appreciated the sympathy. Shadowstriker was sent out to murder Windblade - to take out the young Cityspeaker and turn the tides of their conflict, as Windblade was a newly-appointed general.  
Looks like someone didn’t do her job.  
The duo in a brilliant battle in the streets of a city four hours West from Little Bear, turned against their factions and were chased from the metropolis by rioting and charging crowds - and they laughed all the way back to Little Bear.  
After that, Windblade was made famous - famous for fighting for what she loved. People would race to her on the streets of Iacon and ask her for an autograph, or to show off Stormfall and tell the story of her bond with her blade.

The second - Arcee.  
She was everything a stereotypical bad-girl clad in leather and thick-soled combat boots was. Hell, those types of girls wished they were Arcee. She was always found in the seedy parts of Iacon - leaning against the walls of abandoned bars, chewing on a twig or even a cigarette-holder, watching the world with shifty blue-pink optics and flashing the scars and dents and various dings from presumably street-fights - and all evidence supported her turning up victorious.  
The moment Windblade and her newlywed wife had stepped into Iacon they were told about Arcee. To avoid her - or to at least stay off her bad side.  
They met her somewhere in the Festival District, near the sacred Tree that kept their planet alive. The first thing she said to them was “Camien. I can smell it on you, and you,” She flicked a switchblade to Windblade, “You’ve lost something important, Cityspeaker. Everybody knows how you mutilated Snaketail. I’m going to make it clear - this is _my_ city, so watch your step”.

Both Shadowstriker and Windblade hated challenges - so Arcee was somewhat asking for it when she said those words to Windblade.  
It was however, surprising that Iaconians had such an eye on Caminus, and how everyone was whispering about Windblade when she’d enter the room or even walk the streets of her new home.  
And one by one they had heard stories about them in small drinking-circles around Iacon - which had eventually reached the ears of the legendary Maccadam; who had invited the two ladies to his bar as he was intrigued by what he had heard of them.  
If Windblade could internalize and remember forever the utter shock and surprise on Arcee’s face when Maccadam greeted the two ladies with “The usual?” As if they had been there a thousand times when it was only their first time visiting, she would.  
And in the silence of the bar, the shocked, awed silence, only Arcee spoke - she rushed to the ladies’ sides and offered to pay for their drinks, their drinks in every bar they’d ever visit - she didn’t care about the price, she’d do it.

Soon two became three - and three, four.   
Slipstream.  
It was after the Decepticons had split from the Occulus Occult and she had joined Megatron’s side as the chief of the Seekers after Starscream’s untimely death.  
Windblade felt for the Emperor - she knew she couldn’t as an Autobot, but she did. She understood the Emperor’s pain like no other; she understood why he’d lash out like he did.  
She knew Megatron didn’t just lose a great leader. He had lost a Prince - his eldest son. He and his husband were fighting - all because the pain of grief was at times a load too heavy for them to bear.  
Was she perhaps a bit of a sympathizer? Yes. She knew that Optimus was the same way - she knew the tragedy of the King of the Autobots and the Emperor of the Decepticons intimately. She knew how deeply the wounds of losing a child ran. She’d even stay up late having talks with Optimus about it.  
Surely Slipstream did the same with Megatron.  
She was a terribly fast flier, like the wind itself was in her very spark. She’d zip past Windblade cackling maniacally.   
Windblade knew one thing of Slipstream, she was reputed for having trained alongside Megatron himself while they were both imprisoned in Kaon, with a punch so vicious and a grip so fierce some were afraid of even speaking her name as it was believed to bring bad luck. 

But the few times Windblade and her wives had run into Slipstream, they had learned that her reputation was for the most part inflated by her fellows in an effort to scare anybody who dare challenge or threaten the great Emperor and his Princes.  
In fact, Slipstream had bounded right over to the trio and greeted them kindly and spoke luxuriously of Megatron’s parties he used to throw before the War - balls and jamborees worth the stuff of legends. She’d tell gracious stories of how the Emperor welcomed everyone into the walls of his Black Palace - whether they be the richest upperclassman or the poorest lowerclassman.  
Everybody had warmth and shelter with the Emperor.  
Whether or not Windblade, Arcee and Shadowstriker believed this was never clear, not even among them.

Windblade was alone, contemplating their stories.  
They’d come so far - as individuals and as a family. A knock at the door.  
“Yeah?”  
With a creak the door swung open - standing in the door was Blades, their lips tilted in a gentle smile. “Come on, Windblade,” They began in a sing-song voice. “You’re missing out on the party!”  
Windblade offered a smile to the other - their hull sparkled bright and orange like a creamsicle in the light cast from the bar-cafe behind them. Calm chatter and loud lo-fi music and jazz music played over the speakers, and rain lashed at the windows of the ship and lightning flashed and thunder purred.  
Earth. Oh how beautiful it was.  
“Blades!” Barked a voice bellowing and deep and sweet - Heatwave. “Come here, leave her alone”.  
Blades turned, their rotors shifting and rattling with surprise. They looked over their shoulder at Windblade.

“Are you going to be ok?” They asked. Windblade nodded and rose off of the crate she sat on.  
She just needed some time alone. “Yeah, I’m coming, hold your rotors”.  
Blades snorted and they slinked into the bright stormy room - faux plants wrapped themselves up wooden posts and around wooden rafters with lights designed to look like lightbulbs full of fairy-lights hanging on rope.  
Megatron was leaning back in his bench, his head almost resting on Heatwave’s shoulder, the two chattering softly between each other. Megatron lift his head and chatted among his husband and his eldest twins - Thundercracker and Skywarp.  
Windblade slumped her shoulders. Tension fled from her.  
Despite her reputation as a fighter, as a vicious combatant and how everyone looked at her and her three wives as nothing but troublemakers, everyone still cared for her - for them.  
Heatwave shifted over as Blades sat beside him. Heatwave offered a smile to Blades and kissed their head.

Resting against Heatwave’s chest, chewing on what must’ve been some type of fruit jerky was his son, Hotshot. He was a few months old - and so incredibly tiny and overwhelmingly cute.  
He was resting his head against his father’s shoulder, and beside them his carrier which was digging into Heatwave’s side.  
The U-shaped bench was only partially occupied - beside Heatwave sat Boulder, who was sipping on tea, and beside him was Chase who was chatting with Barricade and Prowl in the booth behind theirs, who looked tired and bored at their youngest brother’s chat.  
And beside Chase was Arcee, Shadowstriker and Slipstream chatting among each other and the seekers behind them.  
Windblade drew in a sigh and took her place beside her wives and across from Blades - who smiled serenely at her and with a smirk jerked their head towards their husband. They snorted softly, and Windblade cocked her head. “Look at him,” Blades began.

Surely enough, Heatwave was holding Hotshot up on his chest under his arms, his sky-blue eyes narrowed and his lips turned down in a frown; and he was monologuing to the sparkling as if he was a grown adult. “Now please, do not do that to Megatron again”.  
“What did he do?” Windblade asked with a snort.  
Heatwave turned his eyes to Windblade. “He thought it would be, uhh, funny to pull on his helm”.  
Sure enough, in the table behind Heatwave Megatron was laughing uncontrollably into his coffee, exhaust huffing from his vents as he tried not to howl out. Optimus was across from him, shaking his head, and Skywarp was cackling like a hyena, tears streaming down his faceplates. Thundercracker raised his optics, rolled them and turned his attention back to the book in his hands.  
The cafe spent the rest of the morning alive with laughter and chatter, Decepticons and Autobots together as one. 


	3. Monochromatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulkhead and Wheeljack are alone together one early summer morning and both can't agree on who should get Miko till Hellfire speaks up and resolves to retrieve her human sister herself, leaving her fathers to rest in peace for a little bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that these two are romantic with a father/child bond with Miko and Hellfire. I hardly see content of these two! I was thinking - "Feel" doesn't have to be just physical sensations, right? How about some feelings from our characters about each other?

day 3:  
[ _ **feel**_ or ~~think?~~](https://dcepticonn.tumblr.com/post/633591749526355968/rare-tf-pair-week-2020-november-1-7-word)

[Tumblr Post (Now it's just a link to this)](https://dcepticonn.tumblr.com/post/633796369018175488/tf-rarepair-week-i-chapter-3-dcepticonn)

_we lay here for years or for hours,_   
_my hand in your hand,_   
_so still and discreet._   
_~ hozier + karen crowley, 'in a week' ~_

“Dad”, came the voice at the door that golden morning. Wheeljack picked his head up, and when he spoke, the shields that covered his audials flashed dull blue.   
“Hellfire,” He began gently, yawning widely and tilting his chin down to the other he slept on top of. He snored deeply, like a bear, as humans said. Bulkhead, with his sparkling camo green hull and glimmering blue eyes.   
He was everything to Wheeljack.   
They were head-over-heels for each other from practically the beginning. They grew up across the street from each other, both best friends from the start and quickly becoming lovers.   
Now they were married with two daughters - one who was a human named Miko, and the other who was standing in their doorframe, the light catching on her pristine hull and making her sparkle with flecks of pearling in her paint. And they told her no body modifications, especially paint modifications, till she was older.   
But she didn’t listen and came home with pearled paint one day. Ratchet paid for it, she said. Knockout performed the procedure.   
Bulkhead was going to gel their daughter out, but alas Wheeljack stopped him. “Long as it makes her happy,” he said to him. 

Bulkhead even protested to when the little one changed her alt mode - she changed it to a BMW; specifically a ZL4 E89. It was a nice car, though - a two-doored, two-seating hardtop convertible with dual kidney grills. But like that mattered, or like they even really understood what she meant when she gushed about her total horsepower, or how she loved how the kidney grills hugged her shoulders and how the headlights over the wheel-wells felt comfortable over her chest.  
Bulkhead suggested to Wheeljack that they convince her to stop hanging out with Knockout.  
She was slowly but surely becoming another Knockout, that was to say the least. And nobody wanted that.  
Stripes of sky blue ran in waves along her doors, which were on her back like a beetle’s elytra, and said blue markings raced over the wheel-wells harnessing her chest and shoulders and around her hips and legs. 

Bulkhead quit caring, though, as long as she was happy.  
“Who’s gonna go pick up Miko today?” She began softly, walking to her father’s bedsides. Bulkhead groaned and blinked open his eyes. He smiled.  
“I thought she was walking to school today”.  
“It’s Saturday,” Wheeljack teased, turning his head down to his lover. “Remember?”  
Bulkhead snorted. “Yeah,” He began. “Yeah”.  
“Who’s gonna go get her?” Wheeljack asked again.  
“I will,” Bulkhead began.  
“No, you won’t,” Hellfire interrupted. “I haven’t picked her up before”.  
“You know damn well why,” Wheeljack growled in response. “ _TWELVE_ speeding tickets! In the span of _one_ afternoon no less!”  
“Aw!” Hellfire groaned. “I’ll just ask Ratchet again!”  
“You KNOW what he’ll say,” Bulkhead began. “He’ll tell you to go ask your fathers, or he’ll scold you”.

Hellfire groaned. “Please?” She begged.  
Wheeljack groaned, leaving a kiss on Bulkhead’s helm before rolling off of him into the berth beside him and sitting up. Hellfire was staring at him with a pleading expression.   
She had always loved her fathers, she respected her fathers. But there was always a disagreement or something.   
Like when she came home with pearled paint. She thought it was a nice investment of her allowance money Ratchet had given her! She had been saving up for four years for a body spray! Her engine practically snarled with excitement when Knockout brought her into his parlour. And with her brand-spanking-new alt mode that still smelled of new car, what could go wrong?   
Then she came home that afternoon to both of her fathers glaring at her. They didn’t like her new alt mode at first either - they told her she should’ve left it the way it was, but she liked the new car, and soon her fathers did too. At least she thought they did.   
The new paint spray also didn’t slide well at first. 

She felt rejected. She just wanted to feel nice and look even better. Why did her fathers seem to have such an issue with it?  
Despite her choices, they still loved her and she still loved them. Every morning and every night they’d exchange an “I love you” or two. Ever since she was small, almost as far back as she’s remembered, and she’s lived for six-thousand-two-hundred-and-nine days, that’s over twelve-thousand-four-hundred-and-eighteen “I love you”s. She wasn’t forgetting any time soon.   
She couldn’t forget with the constant reminder.   
Her fathers cared. She knew they did. She knew they _worried_ , too. And she worried about them sometimes, too.   
They never ripped on her. She never ripped on them.   
If one accidentally hurt the other it was remedied by that night.   
Their entire family life was respect-based. Were her dads strict at times? Yes! But, it was usually understandable - she had crossed a boundary or violated a rule.   
But it was all forgiven and forgotten by the end of the day.   
She loved her dads. She loved her sister.  
She was just hoping that one day when she learns to fly a ship, Wheeljack would let her take the Jackhammer for a spin.   
Eh, probably not. For once, even she didn’t trust herself with something.

Wheeljack yawned. “You two should sleep in another hour,” Hellfire began gently. “You two were up late last night, and you both deserve your rest”.  
Wheeljack snorted. “You just want an excuse to get Miko”.   
“...Maybe”. Wheeljack reached up and ruffled the top of Hellfire’s head. She giggled.   
“Alright, my little ball of chaos,” He began. “You got us to bend. Just… Don’t bring home any more tickets”.   
Hellfire snorted and turned on her heel, marching from the bedroom door.   
She closed it with a satisfying click, and Bulkhead and Wheeljack could hear her excited laughter as metal ground and clicked as she changed form.   
Silence.   
An engine screamed across the ship, echoing up the walls and making the floor shake. “OH, PRIMUS DAMN YOU!” Ratchet bellowed over the howling engine before the noise of the car’s engine gradually faded off into the distance. 

The walls rumbled as the ship’s door raised shut.  
Bulkhead sighed. “...She’s going to come home with some tickets, isn’t she?”   
“...Bold of you to assume she won’t try fleeing the cops, though. And honestly good luck to those bastards if they want any chance at catching my daughter. Fast little bugger”.   
Bulkhead chuckled softly. Sometimes he didn’t understand the little one.   
But he knew her so well, and she knew him so well.   
Bulkhead could recall the morning she was born vividly. Seventeen long years ago.   
Short blinks of an eye in his lifetime, yes, but it still felt so long. He was out on a mission when Wheeljack appeared, and Ratchet told him to focus and he’ll tell him what’s happening through the coms.   
He almost blew his cover when Ratchet told him it had happened and he was now the father of an absolutely _tiny_ sparkling. He was in a hard place, though - it was too difficult to send him back, as it would, again, blow their cover. It was just too much joy in one tiny, tiny being for him to handle.   
He remembered the long nights when Hellfire was a toddler - staring at the world with that wide, bright-eyes wonder. He’d look to the stars and tell her, that despite his pain at his lover’s absence, her father was somewhere up in the stars flying among stars and surfing on cosmic waves for the betterment of their people. And the few times Wheeljack was home in these early months and the first two years, he spent as much time as he could with Hellfire. 

When she was little, Bulkhead would tell his daughter that a shooting star racing its way along Earth’s sky was a sign her father was thinking about her.  
And there was one almost every single night.   
For the first few months Wheeljack made a bad habit of not calling. Maybe he was too busy, or he simply didn’t call.   
He visited, and then started calling. Bulkhead hated that their daughter had to watch her father through a screen, and surely Wheeljack hated the fact he was watching his daughter grow up through a screen.   
And that’s what compelled him to stay for good, at least long enough for his little bird to spread her wings and leave the nest.   
They loved so much. They cared so much.   
Bulkhead sighed, and Wheeljack cocked his brow. “What’chu thinkin’ about?” Wheeljack asked his husband.   
“N… Nothing. I worry for her sometimes. I worry for both of them”.   
“I do too,” Wheeljack whispered softly. “I worry more than I’d like to admit”.   
Bulkhead rolled over and set his arms at Wheeljack’s hips, holding his lover close. He kissed his shoulder. “Well. We should stop worrying and get another hour of sleep before those two come back”.

Miko.   
At first, Wheeljack and Bulkhead were quite indifferent to the girl. But quickly she proved herself to be more than what was on the surface.   
She was so much more.   
She was their pride and their joy right alongside Hellfire herself; and both had gotten along like bread and butter.   
Even though Miko was, at times, loud and overwhelming she was still an important part of their family. She sang like a little bird and her hands flew along her guitar in a sharp echo to the great musicians of both humanity and Cybertron. She worked those strings with the expertise of an legendary maestro.   
Sometimes how they felt about her clouded their thoughts and their emotions.   
Like when Miko was surrounded by Decepticons; all seven of them eager to squash the poor girl under their boots and in that moment Bulkhead and Wheeljack acted.   
They didn’t know what it was. Was it instinct? Was it simple care and concern?   
Whatever it was they saved the girl’s life, and they loved her.

Bulkhead and Wheeljack woke to the ungodly noise of Ratchet howling in fury at Hellfire.  
“Wait for it,” Bulkhead groaned.  
“HELLFIRE! I _NEEDED_ THAT!” Ratchet howled in the distance. Bulkhead snorted.  
“Knew it. That’s my girl”.  
Wheeljack was already on his feet and out the door of the bedroom.  
Hellfire froze at the sight of her father. In her hand she held a something-or-other Bulkhead forgot the name of. It was fractured terribly in two pieces. “BE CAREFUL DRIVING INSIDE!” Ratchet snapped.  
Sitting in his built-in backpack was his newly born daughter, Daybreaker. She was no older than three days.  
Ratchet still moved slowly and carefully with a limp in his step, every so often wincing when he’d move too suddenly, and occasionally he’d claw at his chest.  
Daybreaker emerged from Ratchet’s chest and had almost killed him in the process. The poor Doc was still recovering.  
Wheeljack leaned against the doorframe and offered Ratchet a sly smirk. “What’s up, Doc?” He asked. “How’s the baby? The fiancés?” 

Ratchet turned venomous eyes onto Wheeljack. “Wheeljack,” He began, struggling to keep his composure. “Please control your daughter, Primus damn it”.  
“Sorry!” Hellfire squeaked.  
“Yeah, you better be,” Wheeljack began slyly, calmly. “It is quite expensive to replace said things. It was an accident, was it not?”  
“Y-yeah,” Hellfire hesitated, rising from her vehicular-mode. On the girl’s shoulder was Miko.  
“Then all should be forgiven,” Wheeljack turned his eyes to Ratchet. And when he spoke there was a spicy snap in his tone. “Right, _Doc_?”  
Ratchet growled and turned his back to Wheeljack. He waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, now let me work”. Daybreaker watched Wheeljack with wide orange eyes from the pack on her father’s back.  
Miko whispered a gentle hello to Ratchet, who glanced over his shoulder at her. He tossed his hand in a half-assed wave. “There’s my girl!” Wheeljack began, and Hellfire held out her arm.  
Miko scampered along Hellfire’s arm, sitting in her palm as Hellfire made her way over to Wheeljack. “See, dad? No tickets,” She began with a smile. Wheeljack’s smirk didn’t fade - he tilted his head at Hellfire as she held up her hand. Miko smiled softly at Wheeljack.  
“Hey, dad,” She began gently. Wheeljack raised his hand and Miko climbed into it, and Wheeljack smiled at her.   
“Hey, Miko. How’you doin’?”   
Miko grinned and clambered onto her father’s shoulder. “Eh,” She began. “Aced my music exam, though. I did _not_ know Mr Bondy liked Slash Monkey! What’re we doing today?”


	4. Just Another Ordinary Game of Cube

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birdie has been bugging her fathers for attention. Constantly. Both of which are trying to work. However, her best friend in the whole wide universe offers to her a game of cube with his parents in which she excitedly accepts. But to her surprise, her fathers decide to join in! Who knew they were so good at Cube?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whirl/Rung are romantic. Blades/Heatwave, although not really a rarepair, is featured and also are romantic. Birdie and Hotshot are inseparable best friends and their relationship is strictly platonic. I couldn't resist combining the two prompts!

day 4:  
[ _ **work or play?  
both!**_](https://dcepticonn.tumblr.com/post/633591749526355968/rare-tf-pair-week-2020-november-1-7-word)

[As always, this is also available on my Tumblr!](https://dcepticonn.tumblr.com/post/633884951030415360/tf-rarepair-week-i-chapter-4-dcepticonn)

_sometimes a home is more than where one lives,_   
_but where one's soul feels most safe,_   
_among friends and companions._   
_~ optimus prime, occulus occult ~_

“DAAAAAAAD” Was the first noise Whirl heard that afternoon. Rung was fiddling with a tube of superglue and a brand-new model spaceship he was assembling.   
Whirl’s head sprung up from the couch in his husband’s office. On the table beside the couch was a half-finished clock - Whirl had set the clock down to ramble to Rung once again.   
It was the fifth time that hour their eldest child decided to pester them.   
Her name was Whirl - but for sake of not confusing her with her father, they called her Birdie. Together father and daughter ran a clock-shop-and-other-oddities shop called Whirl & Birdie’s, which everyone called Whirlybird’s for short. When Birdie wasn’t at her boarding school - Gold Hill Academy - either on Earth or orbiting the planet with the Lost Light, she was at home with her parents.   
She had two little siblings - the youngest being Inkspot and the middle-child being Whalefin with a fourth sibling on the way.   
“Ugh, let her in, Rung,” Whirl groaned. 

Rung scooted over to the office door on his chair and flicked the handle - the door flew open, and standing there was their eldest daughter.  
Of course. Birdie.  
What a little headache.  
Her hull sparkled bright azure and sky-blue in the light, her optics sparkling lemon yellow and shining like polished coins. The little one was completely alone, save for her annoyed parents. “I want to play, I’m bored,” the young one began.  
“Your dads are kind of - eh, in the middle of something, dear,” Rung began gently, reaching a hand to run along the little one’s head. She purred deeply and nudged her head into her father’s palm.  
“But I’m bored!”  
“...Go find something to do, dear,” Whirl began. “Do you have any homework?”  
“All caught up”.  
“Good,” Whirl purred softly. “Is your room cleaned?”  
“Yeah”.

“...And Whalefin and Inkspot’s?”  
“Yeah,” Birdie groaned. She walked over to her father and collapsed into his lap - Whirl almost instantly let a claw fall to the sparkling’s helm, trailing tender, loving strokes along the side of her head. “All of my chores are done too”.  
“What’re your friends doing?”  
“I don’t know,” Birdie hesitated and turned her wide golden eyes to Rung, who was wheeling himself back to his desk with a gentle smile.  
“Well,” Rung began, resting his hands on his desk. “Go and find your friends and see if they can play, because we can’t right now”.  
Birdie clambered off of her father’s lap. “Yeah, what we’re doing is kind of important, I’m talking with your father so that I can get better”.  
“But you don’t look sick,” Birdie began. “You’re fine!”  
“Well, uhh,” Rung hesitated and bit his lip. He shot Whirl a pleading look, as if asking how he was going to explain to their daughter. “He’s physically fine, yes, there’s something wrong with his mental health, though”.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, turning those wide gold eyes to her father who turned his singular optic away from her sheepishly.  
“Birdie, I…” Whirl began. “It’s hard to explain in a way that you’ll understand, but you’re a smart girl,” He continued. “I have some issues going on with my brain and I have for a very long time, and I’ve been trying since the day you were born and even a while before that to fix myself so I can take care of you and your siblings the best way I can”.  
Birdie smiled at her father and cocked her head - Whirl sighed, satisfied with his answer.  
“Now let your father talk with me,” Rung began softly as Birdie hopped over to him. “Let him get help fixing himself”.  
Rung chuckled, leaning over to Birdie’s side and kissing her head. 

With that, she was out the door and alone in the waiting room of the office - there were three rooms, one being Rung’s office, and the other belonging to another therapist and a counselor.  
There was a desk pressed to the far wall where the secretary typed away at a computer, among stacks of paper and pencils and trinkets. There was a low wall that wrapped around the desk and gave way to a waiting room, where there sat several others eagerly waiting to visit their doctors.  
Birdie nuzzled her way through the glass door which gave way to a massive atrium, with windows lining the far wall, and a fountain in the middle of the atrium. There was a desk poised before an elevator where there were two receptionists typing away on computers or chattering among the people that came and gone.  
Ah. The medical floor.  
It smelled of sterile gloves and the alcohol of cleaning materials and hand-sanitiser. Classical music purred on the speakers above, and close to the windows that revealed the Earth city they were drifting over lazily were vending machines, and benches, and nurses guiding around their patients.

Some of them had walkers. Some of them had crutches, some had wheelchairs and some were even missing limbs and were limping along on brand-new prosthetics.  
To the left of the massive atrium was the therapy office, and to the right was the medbay itself where they had the emergency rooms, and operating theaters, intensive care units, trauma centres, a maternity ward, and even a pathology unit and dentistry department.  
There was everything wrapped up in those five floors.  
And beside the hospital was the connected retirement home, where the elderly aboard the ship lived and were cared for.  
Birdie loved exploring the medical floors of the Lost Light. Ratchet worked there, and so did Pharma and her uncle Blades. Ambulon was there, and so was First Aid, and every so often Knockout would be there offering his assistance to the medics.  
Medix was surely somewhere in that hospital, perhaps sitting in on a surgery or something of the like while his father worked with his assistants and older trainees. Wherever he was he was surely making himself busy.

Wedge was most likely with Boulder and the other Wreckers - Bulkhead and Wheeljack, Hound and Boulder and so many others. Possibly raising hell, like expected, occupying the bars on the entertainment district on the opposite ends of the ship.  
Hoist was probably with them, and if not probably bothering everyone.   
It was just Birdie.   
But where was Hotshot?   
She hopped over to the door, and one of the secretaries offered a smirk to her as she hopped to the door beside the elevator and opened it, stepping out into the halls.   
“Birdie!” Barked a voice - Hotshot. Perfect timing, she was just thinking of him.   
A smile burst on her lips. “Hotshot!” She barked, turning on her heel - the little sparkling sprinting towards her friend and throwing her arms around him. He chuckled awkwardly, his flaming orange eyes sparkling as he cocked his brow.   
“I was looking for you,” He began, stepping away from his friend’s embrace. “I wanted to know if you wanted to come play Cube with me and my dads”.   
Birdie’s eyes lit up. “Do I ever!”

When the two had walked into the arena in the entertainment-and-sporting sector of the Lost Light, Heatwave had his wide, bright eyes locked on Blades, who was perched on the rafters and clutching in their hands a mass of light - the cube.  
They were pacing back and forth on the rafters gracefully, rotors pricked up off of their back and a sly smile on their lips. Green eyes sparkled brightly at Heatwave, who was practically begging Blades to give him the cube. “DAD!” Hotshot barked, and Blades barked in surprise and lost their footing.  
They tumbled to the floor with a crash, yelping loudly in surprise.  
The cube shot from their hands and rocketed across the room, and promptly Heatwave went galloping after it.  
“Hotshot!” Barked Blades as the little one bounded over and sat on his chest. “You scared me! And I was winning!”

Hotshot chuckled. “Sorry!” And he kicked hard off of the other’s chest, rocketing after Heatwave, who dove to the side as he pounced onto the cube - but alas, it shot around him and towards Hotshot. Heatwave grunted in annoyance as the little sparkling pounced onto the cube and tackled it to the ground.  
Birdie smiled widely, and - finally, she caught Heatwave’s eye.  
“Birdie!” He greeted as Blades shot to their feet and went sprinting after Hotshot, Heatwave in tow. “Come on!”  
The little copter giggled. Finally! Something to do!  
She almost hopped skyward with how her rotors whirred. She sprinted after the trio, Hotshot still quite in the lead.  
Blades, however, turned sharply and hopped forth, intercepting Hotshot - the little one collided with his father’s side with a sharp ‘oof’.  
He fell to the ground, and the cube shot skywards - Blades raised their hand to intercept it, but the cube shot around their hand, and Heatwave reached forward to grab it-  
Birdie acted. She threw herself onto Heatwave’s shoulders despite the older one’s protest and kicked hard off of him, shooting towards the cube.  
She went to grab it, Hotshot yelping in protest-  
A sharp whistle. 

Birdie fell to the floor - right on top of Hotshot - and the cube shot from her hands.  
Her eyes widened - standing in the door was her fathers. Rung, gripping the cube tightly in his hands.  
Whirl cocked his head and chuckled. “Which team am I on?”  
Blades snatched Birdie and raced to Whirl’s side. “MINE! Helicopters for-the-win!”  
Birdie chuckled from her place under Blades’ arm, the other holding her like a duffel bag. They dropped her and she fell to the floor with a cute ‘oof’.  
Whirl reached a claw down to pull her to her feet. “Guess you’re with us,” Heatwave began as the trio of choppers made to the centre of the field with Rung. Birdie rattled her rotors excitedly, and Whirl chuckled at her and ruffled the top of her head with the sides of his claws. Blades smiled down at Birdie. “You ready?”  
Rung stood across from Whirl, and Heatwave across from Blades, and Birdie across from Hotshot. “Are we _ever_!” Hotshot and Birdie said at the same time.  
“Rung,” Heatwave began. The other nodded.  
“R-Right”. He flicked his wrist and the cube shot towards the ceiling.  
Clamouring. 

The cube shot in an arc around the clamouring sextet, and looped once, twice around the arena before Hotshot had managed to break away from their tussling parents, Birdie following close on his heels.  
She giggled and threw herself hard into Hotshot’s side, but that didn’t slow his pace, and soon both were battling over the cube that shot around the track that looped the arena. Blades was following with Heatwave hot on their tail, with Whirl following him with Rung hanging onto his shoulders.  
Hotshot kicked hard off the slanted wall and grabbed the cube, tumbling and rolling to the floor as Birdie tackled him.  
He rolled under her and kicked her hard, sending the other skittering, scuffs of dirt left on her metal. “Be gentle,” Whirl called.  
The cube rattled and shot from Hotshot’s arms, arching over the two sparklings, who were already on their feet and tearing after their parents. “How do we know when we win?” Blades asked Heatwave.

“It’s usually when certain players on a certain team touch it a certain amount of times,” Heatwave began. “But we know Hotshot, always making things hard for us. We’re gonna be playing till the whole thing slows down and stops glowing”. Blades shook their head.  
“Of course, that’s our boy”.  
Whirl bumped hard into Heatwave’s side and for a moment his stride faltered, and Rung was following behind them.  
For a moment, only a moment though, the jaws concealed behind Heatwave’s face opened.  
Whirl returned the gesture - as subtly as he could opening and closing the jaws hidden on the bottom of his helm. It was a special way people with Empurata, whether they were able to or chose to reverse it or not, said hello to each other. It was a silent way of acknowledging that they both suffered the same.  
Heatwave was lucky enough to reverse it before he joined the Lost Light and later the Gold Hill Academy.

Whirl, he wasn’t as lucky. He would never be able to reverse what was done to his helm. His hands he could possibly get back, but not his helm.  
“I GOT IT!” Birdie bellowed, once more tumbling across the field with Hotshot following.  
Rung kicked hard off of the wall, and one by one the four parents sprinted towards the tussling sparklings.  
Birdie gripped the cube hard between her hands, her chest heaving. Even _Hotshot_ was out of breath - his vents rattling and his little sides rising and falling rapidly. Birdie was kneeling over him - the cube’s light was hardly a flicker, and soon, it was gone.  
Blades whooped, and Whirl, once he was behind his daughter picked her up under her arms in both his claws and nuzzled the top of her head. 

Rung galloped over to Whirl and Birdie’s side as Whirl set her down, the small orange bot ruffling his daughter’s head and kissing it softly. “Look-- at-you!” He choked out between heaving breath. Precipitation beaded on the bots’ hulls, and made them sparkle in the light that filtered through the massive glass dome that was over the arena - the topmost floor was perfect for a massive domed arena.  
Clouds drifted lazily over the blue sky, and the sun was blazing and warm.  
Rung sat down - as did Whirl, who fell onto his behind. He laid back, his chest heaving as he panted. Birdie laid herself between her fathers, the little family completely out of breath.  
Hotshot laid with the silicon pads on the bottoms of his feet resting against Birdie’s, the two staring at each other with stupid smiles and sparkling, wondrous eyes.  
Blades was the next to collapse from exhaustion, laying down beside their son and smiling calmly at him and ruffling the top of his head. “Look at you, you fast little bugger! You got us all tired out”.

And finally, Heatwave fell with a bang, right beside Blades, who promptly nuzzled into their husband’s shoulder, who chuckled sweetly and cocked his brow, leaving a kiss on the side of his head.  
“So, what now?” Heatwave panted, taken over entirely by breathlessness.  
“Dunno,” Blades began.  
“I could play again,” Hotshot panted.  
Birdie giggled while Rung, Whirl, Heatwave and Blades groaned.  
“Ugh,” Rung began. “Can we get lunch first? And just, you know, recover? Jeez, you kids have more energy than all of us combined!”


End file.
